Men and women of religion. I’m afraid I haven’t had much luck with them. From the nun who slapped my kindergarten friend around and out of the class (I wonder how many of us in the class had been traumatized by that incident), to another nun who neglected to record the school fee that I gave to her (during high school, while my father was suffering from stroke), to my accounting teacher (same school) who made me make a name sign for his church (aluminium and plywood, he said. I was a high school kid, how on earth was I supposed to do that?), to the headmaster who slapped my friend in the face with a bible, for skipping mass. My friend was a very nice girl, a star student, for goodness sake.
If that wasn’t enough, add some hate sermon at the mosque. Add a charity group who refused to help a family because they were not Moslems. Add the priest who molested school children, and is now still free. The church has not even acknowledged the problem (one of the girls committed suicide. The parents came all the way from England to talk to the Pope, while he was in Sydney, but they didn’t get to talk to him). Add terrorist groups. Add the Spanish Inquisition. Add witch hunts. You’d think religion is definitely worse than an asylum.
Unfortunately for me, I am now working for a religious organization. This is a more contemporary religion compared to Islam or Christian or Hinduism or Buddhism. So you’d expect something different, right? Wrong. It seems that there is something about faith that makes people a bit nuts, no matter which God they serve. I realized this when my employer called me and used all the manipulation technique in the book to make me accept something that I didn’t want to accept, and when I complained the next day, she denied saying what she said. I never expected to deal with Mother Theresa. But really, I was expecting something much better than that.
I’d like to think of myself as a peaceful person. I don’t like to quarrel, and I don’t like to see people quarrel. Whenever my hot-headed family members fight each other, I usually grabbed my shoes and walked out of the house. When I return, normally the fight is over. But some people just get on my nerves. They could not open their mouth without offending me. Unfortunately for me, some of these people are my bosses. I was still angry at my current employer for bullying me into accepting something that I didn’t want. I was also still angry because she didn’t keep her word. In our initial agreement, she told me that there is no time limit, and I could take my time to finish the project. Then suddenly she started counting the pages that I finished, and started sending me emails that said you have to finish this much pages per day. I was maaad. On the day I submitted the work she called again and complained about something that we had agreed on before anyway. I was reaaally maaaad. So my grumpiest bear-voice came out and I didn’t let her finish one sentence.
Later on I calmed down and it dawned on me that I was rude to a client. And that’s not good for business. What to do? Apologize, of course. For being rude only, because it’s wrong to be rude. Her memory loss is her own problem, not mine. Guess what, she said it’s ok and she blamed it on my reactive mind (this is a religious term, meaning I was reacting based on a bad experience in my past, so I wasn’t actually responsible). I don’t know about that. But I know I felt much better after my grump-fest. Venting felt wonderful and I felt ready to go on with the next project.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Computer Class 3
On the third day of the program, another interesting person turned up. He was wearing a dark suit, a trendy, light one. The kind guys wear to go to the clubs on Saturday night. His hair was slick with gel, and he was wearing sunglasses, in the classroom. The glasses looked more like goggles because they covered the eyes completely, even from the sides of his face. The teacher told us his eyes were sore.
This new student, let’s just say his name is John, was very enthusiastic in class. He responded to almost all of the teacher’s statements. then there was a part about workplace safety, and the teacher showed a picture of a monkey throwing a banana peel on the floor. John piped in, “My wife was a monkey. She was stupid. That’s why we got a divorce.” The teacher looked at her notes and said, ”We didn’t need to hear that, John.” Then she added jokingly, “It could be harmful to our psychological health.” The class laughed.
During the break we went down the elevator together. “I’m a computer genius,” said John. “Really?” I asked. “Yes, but not the usual kind. I’m a code-breaker.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I kept my mouth shut and smiled politely.
After the break we returned to class. A few minutes later John went out and leaned his forehead against the wall. We could all see him, by the way. The teacher pretended not to notice and continued with the lesson. After about ten minutes, John returned to his seat.
I know people came to the class for different reasons. Most of us want to improve our computer skills. Other people, like John and the guy-with-the-dog-in-the-shopping-bag, who knows what they are looking for. Attention? Friends? Sympathy? Escape? The teacher may seem cold and uncaring, but these guys are looking for help in the wrong place. And if the teacher listened to the stories of their lives, the rest of us will get nothing in the end. Still, I feel sorry for these guys. Aliens would probably fit in more easily than them.
This new student, let’s just say his name is John, was very enthusiastic in class. He responded to almost all of the teacher’s statements. then there was a part about workplace safety, and the teacher showed a picture of a monkey throwing a banana peel on the floor. John piped in, “My wife was a monkey. She was stupid. That’s why we got a divorce.” The teacher looked at her notes and said, ”We didn’t need to hear that, John.” Then she added jokingly, “It could be harmful to our psychological health.” The class laughed.
During the break we went down the elevator together. “I’m a computer genius,” said John. “Really?” I asked. “Yes, but not the usual kind. I’m a code-breaker.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I kept my mouth shut and smiled politely.
After the break we returned to class. A few minutes later John went out and leaned his forehead against the wall. We could all see him, by the way. The teacher pretended not to notice and continued with the lesson. After about ten minutes, John returned to his seat.
I know people came to the class for different reasons. Most of us want to improve our computer skills. Other people, like John and the guy-with-the-dog-in-the-shopping-bag, who knows what they are looking for. Attention? Friends? Sympathy? Escape? The teacher may seem cold and uncaring, but these guys are looking for help in the wrong place. And if the teacher listened to the stories of their lives, the rest of us will get nothing in the end. Still, I feel sorry for these guys. Aliens would probably fit in more easily than them.
The Computer Class 2
Back to the first day, about an hour after the class started a man came to the class. He apologized for being late, and was explaining that he couldn’t find the building. The teacher sensed that it was going to be a long one, so she asked him to take a seat. The man was carrying a green supermarket shopping bag. The kind you carry whenever you go to the super market, if you can remember to. We were surprised to see the content of the bag. It was a little dog! The dog was sitting calmly and patiently. The man said that he had permission to bring the dog to class. The class continued.
At some point during the class, the man could not follow the lesson. He tried to explain why to the teacher. Again the teacher said “It’s ok” and continued the lesson. The man showed up a few times after that, and then stopped coming at all.
At some point during the class, the man could not follow the lesson. He tried to explain why to the teacher. Again the teacher said “It’s ok” and continued the lesson. The man showed up a few times after that, and then stopped coming at all.
My Computer Class 1
A few weeks ago I started going to a computer course at a government supported school. The first person that I noticed before we went into the class was an Indian lady. She’s middle-aged and has short hair. She didn’t look very friendly. A few sessions later we net in the elevator. I asked her where she is from. She gave me three guesses. Three guesses? Ok.. That means India is obviously out of the question. She doesn’t look Pakistani, so that’s out of the question too. So I asked, “Sri Lanka?”
“No.”
Not Sri Lanka. I tried to remember what other Indian-ish are there out there. I remember my friend Michelle, so I asked, “Goa?”
She looked really surprised. “How do you know? Most people have never even heard of Goa! Is it my name?”
I have no idea what Goa’s people’s names are supposed to be. Lucky guess, but she was really impressed hehehe…
“No.”
Not Sri Lanka. I tried to remember what other Indian-ish are there out there. I remember my friend Michelle, so I asked, “Goa?”
She looked really surprised. “How do you know? Most people have never even heard of Goa! Is it my name?”
I have no idea what Goa’s people’s names are supposed to be. Lucky guess, but she was really impressed hehehe…
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Blank
Do you believe in karma, fate, destiny, signs, etc. etc.?
This morning I woke up thinking, “I’m sure Maggie’s boss will call me today.” Just because I wouldn’t be able to teach. I have a job interview. Guess what? She did call.
This was the third time she called, and the third time I had to say no. The first time, I was in Melbourne. The second time, my cell phone was in silent mode. I blamed it on my TAFE typing instructor who asked us to turn off our phones the night before. (Of course it’s my fault that I forgot to turn the sound back on, but I’d rather blame her.) The third time was as I mentioned before.
I was at the station when she called. I told her the truth. I had a job interview. Then I thought, “Why on earth did I tell her that? Why didn’t I just lie, for goodness sake.” Now she would think that I was bragging, or that I didn’t want the job and she would never call me again. I continued walking and cursing myself until I realized that I didn’t know where I was. The police station that I was supposed to go to was nowhere in sight. (I went there just last night) I tried to remember the turns that I took after the train station but I couldn’t. the last thing I remembered was pushing the crossing button. There was a blank space from there to the poster of Andy Lau on a shop’s window several minutes later. What happened during those blank space?
There was another incident a couple of weeks ago. I was on my way home from the train station. A girl asked me for directions to Bunnings Warehouse. I ouldn’t help her because, as you know, I have no sense of direction. I was deep in thought, trying to figure out where it was (I’ve passed it a million times). I crossed the small street. Out of nowhere there was a loud honk. I almost got hit by a car. I usually make sure the road is clear when I crossed. How come I didn’t see the car? Where was I during the blank seconds? I’ve been forgetful and absent minded all my life. This is why I can’t work with lists of numbers. Why I refuse to drive. I usually laughed my absent-mindedness away, but maybe it’s more serious than I thought. These incidents are signs to me. Snapshots of years to come. In a way I’m glad I have this blog. It’s for, you know, just in case those blank spaces expand and took over. At least my family and friends have this to remember me.
So, what’s all this got to do with the phone calls? I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.
This morning I woke up thinking, “I’m sure Maggie’s boss will call me today.” Just because I wouldn’t be able to teach. I have a job interview. Guess what? She did call.
This was the third time she called, and the third time I had to say no. The first time, I was in Melbourne. The second time, my cell phone was in silent mode. I blamed it on my TAFE typing instructor who asked us to turn off our phones the night before. (Of course it’s my fault that I forgot to turn the sound back on, but I’d rather blame her.) The third time was as I mentioned before.
I was at the station when she called. I told her the truth. I had a job interview. Then I thought, “Why on earth did I tell her that? Why didn’t I just lie, for goodness sake.” Now she would think that I was bragging, or that I didn’t want the job and she would never call me again. I continued walking and cursing myself until I realized that I didn’t know where I was. The police station that I was supposed to go to was nowhere in sight. (I went there just last night) I tried to remember the turns that I took after the train station but I couldn’t. the last thing I remembered was pushing the crossing button. There was a blank space from there to the poster of Andy Lau on a shop’s window several minutes later. What happened during those blank space?
There was another incident a couple of weeks ago. I was on my way home from the train station. A girl asked me for directions to Bunnings Warehouse. I ouldn’t help her because, as you know, I have no sense of direction. I was deep in thought, trying to figure out where it was (I’ve passed it a million times). I crossed the small street. Out of nowhere there was a loud honk. I almost got hit by a car. I usually make sure the road is clear when I crossed. How come I didn’t see the car? Where was I during the blank seconds? I’ve been forgetful and absent minded all my life. This is why I can’t work with lists of numbers. Why I refuse to drive. I usually laughed my absent-mindedness away, but maybe it’s more serious than I thought. These incidents are signs to me. Snapshots of years to come. In a way I’m glad I have this blog. It’s for, you know, just in case those blank spaces expand and took over. At least my family and friends have this to remember me.
So, what’s all this got to do with the phone calls? I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.
Croissant
A few weeks ago, Maggie asked me to stand in for her at the language school. When I got there, there were two students. One was Thai, the other was Vietnamese. The Vietnamese was a brand new student, fresh from his home country, with almost no English. I found myself repeating lots of words and trying to make sense of what he said. Then I noticed he was saying something familiar. Qu’es que c’est a dire? He spoke French! From then on I began to understand what he was trying to say or ask. That was the first time that my elementary French was put into use.
During the break he asked me to have coffee with him, so I did. I refused his offer to buy me coffee but he bought me a croissant and a custard cake anyway. He puts them on the table, placed two fingers on the croissant and said, ”Hot. Eat. Hot.” I was eating my scone, so I said, “Thank you. Yes, after this.” He touched the croissant again and repeated, “Hot. Eat.” ((((((:
There was a short period in my life when I refused to eat the chicken-congee-on-bicycle, because I saw the seller break the krupuk and sprinkle the fried shallot with his bare hands. The same hands he used to handle money and gripped the handle bars of his bike. After a while, gluttony took over and I said to myself, “Heck, I didn’t get sick eating the congee all this time. Why should I stop now?”
It’s the same case with the croissant. If I didn’t eat it, I might offend the kind student. I didn’t know what the fingers had touched since morning. But what’s the worst that could happen? I put away my scone (so he wouldn’t touch the croissant again) and ate the nice, warm, crispy croissant. Yum!
During the break he asked me to have coffee with him, so I did. I refused his offer to buy me coffee but he bought me a croissant and a custard cake anyway. He puts them on the table, placed two fingers on the croissant and said, ”Hot. Eat. Hot.” I was eating my scone, so I said, “Thank you. Yes, after this.” He touched the croissant again and repeated, “Hot. Eat.” ((((((:
There was a short period in my life when I refused to eat the chicken-congee-on-bicycle, because I saw the seller break the krupuk and sprinkle the fried shallot with his bare hands. The same hands he used to handle money and gripped the handle bars of his bike. After a while, gluttony took over and I said to myself, “Heck, I didn’t get sick eating the congee all this time. Why should I stop now?”
It’s the same case with the croissant. If I didn’t eat it, I might offend the kind student. I didn’t know what the fingers had touched since morning. But what’s the worst that could happen? I put away my scone (so he wouldn’t touch the croissant again) and ate the nice, warm, crispy croissant. Yum!
Friday, July 11, 2008
Melbourne, Tuesday
This was our last day in Melbourne. We thanked our hosts and left. The girls decided to visit Melbourne University. It had been the only sunny day so far so I went to the Botanical Gardens instead. I must have been crazy because I had my Bandung suitcase with me. I dragged it around the garden. One hand on the handle, the other on a map and the camera. The garden looked so much better than it was a few days ago, when it was cloudy and miserably cold. I stopped to look around me (and to catch my breath, the footpaths were not suitcase-wheel friendly) and thought of a friend who also love trees and plants in general, and a few minutes later she called me!
From the gardens I went to Melbourne Museum to meet the girls. I thought history repeated itself when we got to the counter and saw a children everywhere (a few months ago I went to Sea World Jakarta and found the place crawling with children. It turned out there was a Jakarta-wide competition for kindergarten students. I think me and my friends were quite traumatised by the experience). It was a huge relieve to find the parents were there with the children, and everybody was well-behaved. It was an even bigger relieve to find out that there was a dinosaurus exhibition and that was where most of those kids were heading. We left out suitcases at the bag counter and started to look around. In one section of the museum there was a Body and Mind exhibition. No photos should be taken in this section. First, there was a plaster cast of the remains of two girls from Pompeii. This is how they got the cast. When the volcano erupted, the moist dust encased the bodies of people who died. This moist dust hardened like a shell around the body. The body withered away but the shell remained intact. When archeologist found these empty shells they filled the shells with plaster. When the plaster dried, we got the statue like shapes.
Going back to why no photos should be taken, there were big posters on naked people of many ages and races. There were life-like statues of naked people too. They weren't in provocative poses so it was't pornographic. Then there was a section of disection. Body tissue, brain, internal organs, bones, ... began to feel queezy so I went out. I don't know how people could hang around in there. Those things came from PEOPLE, people!!! I took a photo of a dinosaurus' skeleton instead.
From the gardens I went to Melbourne Museum to meet the girls. I thought history repeated itself when we got to the counter and saw a children everywhere (a few months ago I went to Sea World Jakarta and found the place crawling with children. It turned out there was a Jakarta-wide competition for kindergarten students. I think me and my friends were quite traumatised by the experience). It was a huge relieve to find the parents were there with the children, and everybody was well-behaved. It was an even bigger relieve to find out that there was a dinosaurus exhibition and that was where most of those kids were heading. We left out suitcases at the bag counter and started to look around. In one section of the museum there was a Body and Mind exhibition. No photos should be taken in this section. First, there was a plaster cast of the remains of two girls from Pompeii. This is how they got the cast. When the volcano erupted, the moist dust encased the bodies of people who died. This moist dust hardened like a shell around the body. The body withered away but the shell remained intact. When archeologist found these empty shells they filled the shells with plaster. When the plaster dried, we got the statue like shapes.
Going back to why no photos should be taken, there were big posters on naked people of many ages and races. There were life-like statues of naked people too. They weren't in provocative poses so it was't pornographic. Then there was a section of disection. Body tissue, brain, internal organs, bones, ... began to feel queezy so I went out. I don't know how people could hang around in there. Those things came from PEOPLE, people!!! I took a photo of a dinosaurus' skeleton instead.
Melbourne, Monday
Next on the agenda was Sovereign Hill in Ballarat. Sovereign Hill is a replica of a gold-mining town. It had one real ex-gold mine underground, which we explored, with a guide. Outside there was a small stream where children tried panning gold.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Mebourne, Saturday
On Saturday each of us had our own activities. I preferred to explore the city so I did. I went through Chinatown and visited the Chinese Museum.
Found a wonderful little cake shop and bought a slice of mudcake. Took trams arcoss the city and ended the day in a Japanese resto. That wasn't really the end, though. Dhena joined me at the resto and before heading back we took some photo of the Yarra River at night.
Found a wonderful little cake shop and bought a slice of mudcake. Took trams arcoss the city and ended the day in a Japanese resto. That wasn't really the end, though. Dhena joined me at the resto and before heading back we took some photo of the Yarra River at night.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Melbourne, Thursday and Friday
We bought a weekly ticket at Seven Eleven and walked to a tram stop. My made-in-Bandung suitcase was as unsteady as ever and it turned over everytime I tried to walk faster, and gave me a lot of problems when crossing the street. At one point my hat got blown away by a monster gust of wind. Ira ran after it half-way across the street. A truck came and the wheels ran over my poor hat, twice. Don't worry. The hat survived. Ira was also unharmed. After that I only put it on when it wasn't too windy.
We took a tram to Ira's relative's apartment and spent the day exploring the city.
The next day Dhena arrived. We packed some lunch and took a train to the Dandenong Ranges. Most people come to Dandenong in private cars or tour coaches. They usually take Puffing Billy (a steam train) to see the forest reserves. We, on the other hand, decided to leg it. So we asked around and then took a bus. We got of, had lunch in a small resto and asked for directions again. We found a guy with long hair (never trust a guy with long hair (I'm being racist here)) and he was very helpful with a lot of hand gestures. I wondered if he knew we didn't travel by car, so I told him. He was stunned. "Anyway", he said, "just follow the road and be careful of the cars."
We continued walking, turned around after a few meters, found a map ("Hey, we're not very far from the reserve!"), asked somebody again ("Sorry, I don't live around here. I live at the foot of the mountain. But there's a path just behind this school. I'm quite sure it leads to a bush-walking trail.") We followed his directions and found a picnic area full of tame birds.
From there we found a small gate where the bush-walking trail started. We walked through fern gullies, crossed small bridges, uphill, downhill. I'm really a big fan of workout. Lucky for me, Ira and Dhena often stopped to take photos. Still, I huffed and puffed and sweated waterfalls. It was very green and peacefull in the reserves but I was very glad when we finally finished.
I was really surprised that Ira and Dhena planned to go to Hard Rock Cafe to buy some souvenirs afterward. I definitely declined and went straight back to the apartment.
We took a tram to Ira's relative's apartment and spent the day exploring the city.
The next day Dhena arrived. We packed some lunch and took a train to the Dandenong Ranges. Most people come to Dandenong in private cars or tour coaches. They usually take Puffing Billy (a steam train) to see the forest reserves. We, on the other hand, decided to leg it. So we asked around and then took a bus. We got of, had lunch in a small resto and asked for directions again. We found a guy with long hair (never trust a guy with long hair (I'm being racist here)) and he was very helpful with a lot of hand gestures. I wondered if he knew we didn't travel by car, so I told him. He was stunned. "Anyway", he said, "just follow the road and be careful of the cars."
We continued walking, turned around after a few meters, found a map ("Hey, we're not very far from the reserve!"), asked somebody again ("Sorry, I don't live around here. I live at the foot of the mountain. But there's a path just behind this school. I'm quite sure it leads to a bush-walking trail.") We followed his directions and found a picnic area full of tame birds.
From there we found a small gate where the bush-walking trail started. We walked through fern gullies, crossed small bridges, uphill, downhill. I'm really a big fan of workout. Lucky for me, Ira and Dhena often stopped to take photos. Still, I huffed and puffed and sweated waterfalls. It was very green and peacefull in the reserves but I was very glad when we finally finished.
I was really surprised that Ira and Dhena planned to go to Hard Rock Cafe to buy some souvenirs afterward. I definitely declined and went straight back to the apartment.
Melbourne, Thursday
The five-day-trip started at 5:10 a.m. with a call from my sis. I haven't taken a shower so I just changed clothes and carried my suitcase down to the car. We picked Ira up and arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. We got on the plane and found our seats. Ira continued her sleep. As the plane took off the air pressure increased and a toddler behind us started to cry. (I'm just guessing that it was the air pressure.) She cried on and off, depending on the parents' techniques to get her to quiet down. Then another tolddler a few seats in front of us fell off the seat and started crying too. When I said 'cry' I meant the high pitched, maximum power, straight-from-the-diaphragm wails. These wails upset a baby somewhere and it started to cry too. The cabin was like a childcare center on a bad day. Thank God it was only 75 minutes. We arrived safely to a cloudy, windy and chilly Melbourne. That was how it would continue for the rest of the trip, except the last day.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Reckless
Another reason why I haven’t written for a while was a job that I did. I did some proofreading a while back and the next step was updating the documents. Updating means making sure that the comments during proofreading has been entered. It took me two weeks to do the update check. I finished last week and I was very happy. During the two weeks I also went for and interview and took a translation test. It was crazy. The interview was done by a panel of three. It was nerve-wrecking. I didn’t do very well but not very badly either. They promised to contact me in couple of weeks. The interview was on June 10th . It’s been a little over two weeks so I have very little hope at this point.
Two days after the interview I took the translation test. It started at 9:30 in the morning and finished at 12:00. I started to feel hungry at 11:00. My tummy growled and grunted and made all kinds of very scary and very loud noises. Good thing I was alone in the room and there was no one to supervise me. The walls were pretty thin, though. I think the people the next room was probably wondering what kind of wild animal was in the room with me. The next day I woke up with a horrible tummy pain. The late lunches and stress had taken their toll. I took some Mylantas and bought a packet of digestive biscuits. I actually love digestive biscuits, I demolished several packets in a matter of days, just as snacks, with the excuse, “I shouldn’t leave my stomach empty for too long.” The pain had gone, but I stocked up on the biscuits anyway just in case.
Then I went for a very dodgy interview. Dodgy because I don’t even know when the job is going to start. Maybe in two-months time, maybe never. The story is that somebody is starting a new language school. He is Pakistani and funnily reminded me of my old boss in terms of looks, except that he has a very nice set of white teeth. He needs a teacher/coordinator as part of the requirement to get accreditation for the school. My friend introduced me to the boss of his friend who then introduced me to this guy. To make the story short, the owner (the Pakistani guy) will continue completing the requirements and I can pull out or continue anytime I want. The problem is, of course, there are no students yet, no books, no accreditation, nothing. But hey, it’s not like I’m swamped with work at the moment, so I said yes to something that may of may not happen.
Two days after the interview I took the translation test. It started at 9:30 in the morning and finished at 12:00. I started to feel hungry at 11:00. My tummy growled and grunted and made all kinds of very scary and very loud noises. Good thing I was alone in the room and there was no one to supervise me. The walls were pretty thin, though. I think the people the next room was probably wondering what kind of wild animal was in the room with me. The next day I woke up with a horrible tummy pain. The late lunches and stress had taken their toll. I took some Mylantas and bought a packet of digestive biscuits. I actually love digestive biscuits, I demolished several packets in a matter of days, just as snacks, with the excuse, “I shouldn’t leave my stomach empty for too long.” The pain had gone, but I stocked up on the biscuits anyway just in case.
Then I went for a very dodgy interview. Dodgy because I don’t even know when the job is going to start. Maybe in two-months time, maybe never. The story is that somebody is starting a new language school. He is Pakistani and funnily reminded me of my old boss in terms of looks, except that he has a very nice set of white teeth. He needs a teacher/coordinator as part of the requirement to get accreditation for the school. My friend introduced me to the boss of his friend who then introduced me to this guy. To make the story short, the owner (the Pakistani guy) will continue completing the requirements and I can pull out or continue anytime I want. The problem is, of course, there are no students yet, no books, no accreditation, nothing. But hey, it’s not like I’m swamped with work at the moment, so I said yes to something that may of may not happen.
Stubborness
A friend complained recently that she kept seeing the indoor pool entry when she visited this blog; that means I haven’t written a new entry for a long, long time (: The reason for this was that my old computer had crashed again, for the millionth time. My niece is fed up with reformatting and reinstalling the programs so the poor old thing has been left in the comatic state for about a month.
I had been hunting for a cheap CPU tower for weeks, when I finally found the cheapest so far, $110 for a second hand Acer, a few days ago. The seller lives in South Coogee. That means a train ride to the city, a bus ride, and a 700 m walk to his house. I considered taking a suitcase to carry the tower back, but the only one in the apartment is so big I could fit in it comfortably. I considered the small shopping trolley that we have, but after a careful look, I found it too small. I rummaged around and found a doona bag. The size seemed perfect, so I chose the doona bag to take with me.
The address was easy enough to find. I arrived without much drama. The seller showed me the tower. I paid. He put the tower in the bag - it fit perfectly - wished me luck, and I started the journey home. Of course I expected a CPU tower to be heavy. I also expected myself to be as strong as Xena. I was right about the weigh. And I was wrong about Xena. I carried the bag for about twenty meters and had to put it down. I thought about taking a taxi. Then I thought, I’ll take a taxi at Central to save money. I took a deep breath and continued. I stopped again after twenty meters and changed the way I carried the bag. I continued again for twenty meters, stopped, continued, stopped to answer a phone call, continued and so on until I reached the bus stop. I thanked God because it was a downhill trip instead of uphill. Then I remembered that the walk home from the train station would definitely be uphill and I was more determined to take a taxi. I suddenly also appreciated the shopping trolleys that people took from the supermarket and left in the streets. If I couldn’t get a taxi, I prayed I would find one of these trolleys that I used to mentally complain about.
I got on the bus. It was so comfortable after lugging that bag that I didn’t want to get off. I finally got off, crossed the street and put the bag down, picked it up again, and cursed the long tunnel towards the ticket gate. I finally made it to the train. On the train I thought of all kinds of method to avoid carrying the bag again. I could leave it at the station while I went home to get a trolley or the suitcase, I could call my niece and asked her to help me carry the bag, I could call my sister-in-law and asked her pick me up at the station and drive me home. But I didn’t want to ask for help. I was really grumpy when I reached the station. My sister-in-law called just when I was looking around for a stray trolley. She offered to pick me up. I gave up and said yes.
I weighed the CPU tower this morning. It weighs about 11 kg. That’s not too heavy, isn’t it? I’m just definitely not Xena (((: but I am stubborn as a mule.
I had been hunting for a cheap CPU tower for weeks, when I finally found the cheapest so far, $110 for a second hand Acer, a few days ago. The seller lives in South Coogee. That means a train ride to the city, a bus ride, and a 700 m walk to his house. I considered taking a suitcase to carry the tower back, but the only one in the apartment is so big I could fit in it comfortably. I considered the small shopping trolley that we have, but after a careful look, I found it too small. I rummaged around and found a doona bag. The size seemed perfect, so I chose the doona bag to take with me.
The address was easy enough to find. I arrived without much drama. The seller showed me the tower. I paid. He put the tower in the bag - it fit perfectly - wished me luck, and I started the journey home. Of course I expected a CPU tower to be heavy. I also expected myself to be as strong as Xena. I was right about the weigh. And I was wrong about Xena. I carried the bag for about twenty meters and had to put it down. I thought about taking a taxi. Then I thought, I’ll take a taxi at Central to save money. I took a deep breath and continued. I stopped again after twenty meters and changed the way I carried the bag. I continued again for twenty meters, stopped, continued, stopped to answer a phone call, continued and so on until I reached the bus stop. I thanked God because it was a downhill trip instead of uphill. Then I remembered that the walk home from the train station would definitely be uphill and I was more determined to take a taxi. I suddenly also appreciated the shopping trolleys that people took from the supermarket and left in the streets. If I couldn’t get a taxi, I prayed I would find one of these trolleys that I used to mentally complain about.
I got on the bus. It was so comfortable after lugging that bag that I didn’t want to get off. I finally got off, crossed the street and put the bag down, picked it up again, and cursed the long tunnel towards the ticket gate. I finally made it to the train. On the train I thought of all kinds of method to avoid carrying the bag again. I could leave it at the station while I went home to get a trolley or the suitcase, I could call my niece and asked her to help me carry the bag, I could call my sister-in-law and asked her pick me up at the station and drive me home. But I didn’t want to ask for help. I was really grumpy when I reached the station. My sister-in-law called just when I was looking around for a stray trolley. She offered to pick me up. I gave up and said yes.
I weighed the CPU tower this morning. It weighs about 11 kg. That’s not too heavy, isn’t it? I’m just definitely not Xena (((: but I am stubborn as a mule.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Indoor Pool
Something happened during my childhood that I vaguely remember. We had an open water basin (bak air) near the kitchen. Like most old water basins, it was huge and quite deep (for a 5 or 6 year old), and the kitchen area was a popular place to sit together and chat. I remember perching on the side of the basin. An older person was sitting next to me, but I forgot who. I remember thinking, "If I lean backward, I would fall into the basin. I wonder what it would feel like? The water looks very cool and nice." I can't be sure if these next things really happened because I find it so bizarre. I think I really leaned backward and rolled myself into the basin. My whole body and head was under water. It really felt cool and nice. It was a bit dark and I heard underwater sounds around me. There were a lot of commotion above the water. And I guess I was immediately pulled out, but I don't remember this, or anything else that happened after that. Was it real? Was it a dream?
Friday, May 16, 2008
Sugar Diet
I mean I'm trying to cut down on my sugar intake, not the other way around. The frostbite set of warning bells in my head. Why? Because the doctor's first question (the one at the emergency ward) was, "Are you diabetic?" Now, that's scary. My father had it.
So today I started the sugar diet. I started to fail in the morning, when I dipped my toast in honey. But honey is good sugar, right? Things went well for a while. Mid aftenoon I began to feel a craving for sweet, sugary things. I craved for bubble tea, chocolate bar, marshmellow filled cookies. I managed to stay away from those temptations, until after lunch. The pineapple cookie was too tempting. I only took one, though. I just had lunch but I still felt empty inside. I pottered around the apartment feeling bored and hungry, even though I know my stomach was still full. I surrendered at around 4. I had my second lunch, and topped it with a scoop of very sweet cookies and cream ice-cream. Gosh, I'm a sugar junkie!
So today I started the sugar diet. I started to fail in the morning, when I dipped my toast in honey. But honey is good sugar, right? Things went well for a while. Mid aftenoon I began to feel a craving for sweet, sugary things. I craved for bubble tea, chocolate bar, marshmellow filled cookies. I managed to stay away from those temptations, until after lunch. The pineapple cookie was too tempting. I only took one, though. I just had lunch but I still felt empty inside. I pottered around the apartment feeling bored and hungry, even though I know my stomach was still full. I surrendered at around 4. I had my second lunch, and topped it with a scoop of very sweet cookies and cream ice-cream. Gosh, I'm a sugar junkie!
The Proofreading Job
It has been interesting, this job. I really enjoyed being busy, doing something that I do well. I learned a lot too. Not just about the subject matter, but a lot of other things. First of all, I got to know a new friend. She's a friend's sister. I also got to visit a new suburb, Dundas. I went there with Ira, armed with a map. We were confused at the station, so we asked two local golden girls for directions. They were very nice. In fact, one of them drove us to the address. There I got to see the headquarter of scientology. It used to be a monastery. My employer lives and works there, seven days a week, from nine a.m. to nine p.m. Phew! I also got to see the church of scientology in the city. I was offered to watch a process they call auditing. Too bad I had to leave early (actually I was just famished, and I really craved nasi lemak at a Malay resto nearby). Don't worry, I'm not planning to join Tom Cruise anytime soon. It's just a job, and I finished the lot a couple of days ago.
Poor Toes
My big toes have been troublesome for some time. That's why I have been avoiding shoes, or even socks. I walk around the city in flip-flops, or thongs, as locals call them. One day the big toe of my left foot looked a bit swollen. So I soak my feet in salt water, as a doctor once adviced me. It didn't work. So I went to Bondi to get the "real" purifying, therapeutic sea water. Didn't work. I stayed over at my bro's house. There I gave the salt water bucket another try. The water was a bit cold, but it was in the middle of the afternoon, so I thought it was okay. In the evening my other toes looked a bit swollen. By around ten the swelling had spread to a larger area. I thought this must be some kind of infection. How big would my foot be in the morning? What if I got gangrene somehow? (I saw an anti-smoking campaign on tv, with a green leg as the main actor. Not cute.) I called a nearby clinic. They're closed. I called a hospital. Their emergency ward is open. So my bro and my sis-in-law drove me to the hospital. The doctor looked, poked, squeezed, and asked a lot of questions and said there's nothing wrong, and sent me home. So I went home, rather embarassed. A week later my toes were still swollen, red, and really painful at night. Pockets of water that looked like hot oil had landed on the skin appeared. I passed by a clinic on my way home from the supermarket. I went in, just like that, on impulse. After waiting for almost an hour, my turn came. The doctor had one look, smiled, and said, "You've got frostbite." Whattt??????????? I thought you only get that in very cold places, like Canada, or the Himalayas. Scary stories told about climers who got frostbitten and had to have amputations. Thank God I only needed a steroid cream and socks. Anyway, I bought lots of thick gigantic socks and a pair of fuzzy slippers, got the portable heater out and put it in front of me when I watch tv, and no more flip-flops for a while, not until summer next year.
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